I Want to Die in New Orleans // $uicideboys

7: Sounds Like A Diary Entry

In the midst of it all I came to realize one thing out of that year of my life. Ruby was almost always right. The drugs to and not to take. The fact that the band was only temporary. That people like us have two paths in life and there was no such thing as backtracking in our vocabulary. That no matter what happened, in a couple days, or weeks, or months, or years, as long as we lived out to see the next few days, it eventually fell down to the fact that none of it would actually matter.
The band fell apart, and for a while, the guilt that I may have caused that destruction found a way to burrow its way under my skin. I wandered the halls of my school with earbuds plugged into my ears as deep as can be. No more Wolverine, no more Ruby, and the most rueful of them all, no more Marly.
That year I could've said that a clone of him was in my Biology II class. Perhaps I actually died that night with Ruby, leaving me to roam this prison on a mission in my own afterlife. Marly looked through me as transparent as a window pane, his eyes explaining the void that began to fill my stomach named nothingness.
I skipped prom. I snuck out of the shelter I once called my home. I infested myself in substances, mostly marijuana and hallucinogens. I started writing more and thinking less, passing each grade by the cracks in my teeth. I managed. Walking up the stage in the beading heat, clutching the diploma, looking out into the crowd to feel the nothingness weigh over me. The nothingness that came out of the claps from classmates' parents that ceased to know I even existed. Not a clap from a 'friend', not a sight from a family member, not the illusion of a graduation I had in mind when I first arrived at the shithole I called "my high school."
The life I lived and imagined to be soon living were millions of miles apart, each time buying that plane ticket to arrive where I needed to be. Though having the transaction declined due to the insufficient seating with all the passengers, or a delay because of the malfunction to the jet. Ironically, even boarding that airplane, leaving the ground, no matter how much closer I grew to my destination, each time the turbo would rupture, the propellers would burst, a storm would wreak havoc on my voyage. Each and every time.
Here I am now, scavenging the grounds of New Orleans. A break away from Marrero and all the memories that are buried under its own terror, i supposed that terror is something you'd find anywhere. Shall I rephrase that then? Here I am, making the most of the terror, assigning myself to live in a place where it correlates to me not within the buildings or people but the air.
My father found it foolish for me to abandon our hometown to move into a city with such contaminated air. I found it foolish that he'd not think for a second how hypocritical he was, that our household was tainted in much worse paraphernalia and drugs. Now looking at it seeing how jealous he could've possibly been, that my neighbor could possibly sell a rock for far cheaper then he'd been buying. I restrained myself from indulging myself too deep into those thoughts.
A year later and I'd have no one except for customers I'd supply after years of experience I gained upon mastering the art of being a 'dope pusher' as high class white women or men would refer to it. Leading me to the first step into the journey of my life. Welcoming me to the underground world of clubs and parties I'd be expanding and upgrading happily for pay, as well as keeping me connected to one thing that held me around for a lot of my years, music.